Hell House

by Richard Matheson

“I am certain you will find your stay here most illuminating.” Belasco’s voice was soft and mellow, yet terrifying—the voice of a carefully disciplined madman.

She turned and looked around the room. There was something in it. What, though? A personality? A residue of emotion? Florence closed her eyes and waited. Something in the air; no doubt of it. She felt it shift and throb, advancing on her, then retreating like some unseen, timorous beast.

“An alternative far more interesting, albeit far more complex and demanding; namely, the subliminal self, that vast, concealed expanse of the human personality which, iceberglike, inheres beneath the so-called threshold of consciousness.

The principle of excess was applied to every phase of life here. Dining became gluttony, drinking turned to drunkenness. Drug addiction mounted. And, as the physical spectrum of his guests was perverted, so, too, was their mental.”